Spark of Hope

(In Another World)

"Havi…!"

The desperate cry of a woman echoed through the stillness of the night, sharp and unyielding, as though seeking to pierce through the veil of a fading dream.

Nuriana Salim, a woman of fifty-five summers, sat bolt upright in her bed, her chest heaving as the remnants of her slumber clung to her like a shadow.

For three nights and three days, her dreams had been invaded by the figure of Havi, a man whose name she scarcely dared to utter, yet whose face she could not escape. He was the one who had snatched her handbag so many years ago.

"Why do I dream of him still?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own racing heart.

Shaking off the lingering haze of sleep, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for the lamp beside her.

Its golden light spilled into the room, illuminating the soft contours of her surroundings. She made her way to the vanity, her movements deliberate, as though drawn by an invisible force.

Standing before the mirror, she gazed at her reflection. Timeless, elegant, with a beauty that seemed untouched by the relentless march of years.

"Has God finally answered my prayers?" she murmured, her voice laced with wonder and trepidation.

For three nights, her dreams had painted the same vivid image : a younger version of herself, her hands entwined with those of a strikingly handsome man.

Him. The thief. The man she had once cursed but had come to pray for, morning and night. What could it mean, this persistent vision of youth and union?

"Is this dream a sign?" she asked the silence, her words trembling with uncertainty. "A sign that his fate has changed? And if so... could it mean that I have changed my own fate as well?"

She exhaled deeply, the sound heavy with the weight of buried sorrows. Her eyes wandered absently across the room until they fell upon an old photo album nestled on a nearby shelf.

The sight of it stirred something deep within her, and she reached for it with trembling hands.

Carefully, she opened its worn cover. The pages revealed a kaleidoscope of memories : sepia-toned snapshots of laughter, sunlit gatherings with cherished friends, and the warm smiles of her parents.

Their love preserved in the stillness of the photographs, though they themselves had long since departed from this world.

Unbidden, tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, tracing silent paths down her cheeks.

A quiet, unspoken regret gnawed at her, a regret that she had never married, never known the companionship of a partner to share the passing years.

"Father… Mother… forgive me," she whispered brokenly, her voice cracking as she clutched a photograph of her younger self standing between her parents, their arms wrapped protectively around her.

Yet, even amidst her sorrow, a faint smile graced her lips as she turned the pages. Her fingers lingered over another photograph, a candid shot of her younger self, her face radiant and full of life.

"I was rather beautiful in my youth," she mused softly, her voice tinged with a wistful pride.

The thought brought a fleeting flicker of amusement to her expression, and she shook her head gently as if chastising herself for her vanity.

The night stretched on, and weariness began to envelop her like a comforting shroud.

She returned the album to its place and settled herself back into bed, her thoughts still lingering on the strange and vivid dreams that had stirred her heart.

Tomorrow would bring its own demands, and with the first light of dawn, the world would call her back to its ceaseless rhythm.

(Back to Havi's World)

"Oi, you there! What on earth are you standing about for, lad? Do you plan on helping me today, or have you decided to make idleness your life's work?"

The voice was rough and gravelled, its tone brimming with irritation. It belonged to old Har, a man whose temper was as gnarled and unyielding as the walking stick he leaned upon.

His eyes, sharp despite their age, bore into Havi, who was standing amidst a pile of logs, seemingly lost in thought.

Startled from his reverie, Havi snapped to attention, stammering out an apology. "S-sorry, Grandfather Har! I was… uh… thinking of a way to, well, make better use of these logs. Something more… practical."

The excuse was clumsy at best, and old Har was not one to be easily deceived. He fixed Havi with a withering glare, his bushy brows drawing together like storm clouds.

"Practical, is it? Hah! Don't make me laugh, boy. I've lived more years than you've seen seasons, and I know when a man's spinning tales. You've no intention of helping, have you? Lazy! That's what you young people are these days. Lazy, the lot of you!"

The old man let out a long, theatrical sigh, shaking his head as though mourning the state of the world. "Not like in my day. Back then, a man earned his keep. The world's gone soft, I tell you, soft as butter in the sun."

Havi, struggling to suppress a sheepish grin, rubbed the back of his neck. "Now, now, Grandfather, there's no need to get worked up. I promise you, I'll put these logs to good use. I'll..."

He broke off suddenly, his words catching in his throat as an idea struck him with the force of a thunderclap. His eyes widened, and a spark of inspiration lit his face.

"That's it!", he cried, his voice ringing out so sharply that it sent a flock of birds scattering from the nearby trees.

But his triumphant exclamation was met with swift reprisal.

Before he could so much as draw breath, Har's battered walking stick came flying through the air, its aim unerring.

The old man's aim, refined over decades of practice, landed squarely on Havi's head.

"You daft whelp!" bellowed Har, his voice rising in indignation. "Are you trying to send me to an early grave, shouting like a madman? Have you no sense?"

Havi yelped and staggered back, clutching his head where the stick had struck. Yet, despite the sting, a grin tugged at his lips.

His earlier annoyance melted away, replaced by a thrill of excitement that was impossible to contain.

"Grandfather! I have a plan," he said, his voice brimming with newfound fervour. He stepped closer, his enthusiasm unshaken by Har's irate glare. "Give me these logs. Let me have them, and I promise you won't regret it."

The old man raised a sceptical brow, leaning on his stick as he studied the younger man's face. "Oh? And what, pray, do you plan to do with them? Build yourself a throne, perhaps, to sit on while the rest of us work?"

Havi shook his head, a determined smile spreading across his face. "No, Grandfather. I'll use them to change this village."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. There was a fire in his eyes now, a spark of resolve that Har couldn't quite ignore. The old man frowned, his scepticism warring with a flicker of curiosity.

"Change the village, is it?" he muttered, his tone gruff yet tinged with reluctant intrigue. "We'll see, boy. We'll see if you're all talk or if there's a shred of sense in that head of yours."

And with that, the wind whispered through the trees once more, carrying with it the faintest promise of change.

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